Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Sunday, November 25, 2012

We're down to just 12 sleeps until Kid Rock's 5th birthday. We've got one excited chipmunk on our hands. As much as I beg time to slow the freak down ... let's just hope for this one little instance time goes quickly.

And as planning goes- menus and parties, and events and spoils, gifts and traditions, the Dad and I pore over the year's millions of photographs to whittle our favorites to just four for the dining room Wall of Lil' Dude Fame, in 20" x 20" glory.

And here those snapshots are, in no particular order of awesomeness:

At this rate, we already have 20 giant photos of her sweet mug catalogued behind glass. By the time she's 18 and we're throwing her one hell of a graduation party, we'll have 72 photos to display, and I'm sure, much to her dismay.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

The other night, you asked me if you could take a bath with me.
It's easy to say no to that.
Who has the time.

But I paused- ever remembering my Grandma's story of when, 25 years ago, she was elbows-deep in her summer day of canning when my cousin C. called her, asking if she'd come swim with him. He was home alone and knew the rules- adult supervision. So, he called in the big gun- Grandma- and she didn't let him down. She shut off her stove, took off her apron, and headed for the pool. She said that day she knew the time when C. would ask her to spend time with him would cease. He'd grow up and get his license and join the world of unchildren. Grandma wanted to be present and a Yes person for as long as she could.

I remembered that as I drew our tub full of Philosophy's Raspberry Sorbet bubbles ... there will be a day, and mad-quick, that you won't ask to take a bath with your Mama. I'll say yes for as long as you wants me to.

We played mermaids, fashioned mohawks, listened to Taylor's new album, and got wrinkly.
You traced my stretch marks, commenting on how those were my owwies from letting you grow.
You asked me if they hurt, and I said yes.
Not the marks, so much, if at all. But yes ... it hurts, letting you grow.

In the best way hurting can.

Fall makes me nostalgic; November makes me swandive into memories of being pregnant, and waiting, not knowing. Of learning how to swaddle and clip tiny baby nails and lock carseats into Target's carts. Of learning to record your words, your hair clippings, and kissing your bruised forehead after another tumble. Of preserving handmade Halloween costumes and introducing you to Dirty Bingo at Thanksgiving and picking out Fir trees at River Bluffs Tree Farm. Of pictures of Santa Claus holding a tiny, fuzzy reindeer, only seven days old at the hot and crowded mall. Of the front porch and school bags with your name and new shoes in three bigger sizes from last fall.

The Lil' Dude

A seven-year-old dynamo who never meets a stranger, nor cardboard box she doesn't love. Craves sleep, CheezIts, art, her people, making a difference, and singing her heart out. She's better than anything on any Starbucks menu.

That's What She Said

"I am enough. I am full of sparkle & compassion. I genuinely want to make the world a better place. I love hard. I practice kindness. I'm not afraid of the truth. I am loyal, adventurous, supportive, & surprising. I am a woman. I am enough. I make mistakes, but I own them & learn from them. Sometimes I make a lot of mistakes." -Molly Mahar